


causal martyr

by curtailed



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference (ish), Alter Egos, Dirk and Bro are the same person, F/F, M/M, Multi, Quadrant Confusion, Rebellion, Seadweller Dirk, Shifting Relationships, Supernatural Elements, Superpowers, Trollstuck, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrelated Striders, discontinued, please read the last chapter for more information
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtailed/pseuds/curtailed
Summary: Where Daevid Strydr learns the drawbacks of life, love, and loss during the inopportune time of war.
Relationships: Aradia Megido/Feferi Peixes, Dave Strider/Dirk Strider, Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Eridan Ampora/Vriska Serket, Jade Harley/Dave Strider, John Egbert/Terezi Pyrope, Nepeta Leijon/Equius Zahhak, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam, Roxy Lalonde/Dirk Strider, Sollux Captor/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	1. Upward Movement (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> future chapters will be much longer! (no, the whole story won't be pesterlog)
> 
> read end notes for more info.

terminalTestified [TT] began trolling turntechGambler [TG]

TT: =Daevid.

TG: **fuck**

TT: =Don't even start.

TT: =I can already rule out Rohxye, Jayhne, and Equius' hives as your current location, so can I just politely ask:

TT: =Where the [[FUCK]] are you.

TG: **oh yeah please play the fuckin concerned palemate card on me whenever im outta reach of Rohxs grabby computer hands**

TG: **consider this asshole**

TG: **maaaybe i {{WANTED}} some lonetime to myself today ever thought about that**

TT: =Can you at least give me a fucking location so that I know you're safe.

TG: **haha no**

TG: **remember the last time i was chillin with my fellow rustbuddy**

TG: **and then you fuckin ordered a gogdamn drone attack on us**

TG: **that killed three bystander trolls dipshit**

TT: =Chill down, I reimbursed their families.

TT: =They were on the cull lists anyways.

TT: =And besides, you and Spectre were already fighting the Orphaner and Mindfang; there was bound to be some casualties.

TT: =I guarantee you Mindfang would've used them as hostages against you.

TG: **fuck your shitty logic**

TT: =If you had sent that location sooner I could've helped you.

TG: **dirkke**

TG: **dirkke**

TG: **dirkke**

TG: **thats fucking hilarious**

TT: =You're at the lowblood hub, aren't you.

TG: **uhh**

TG: **no way bro**

TG: **you said that place was off limits and i preached it like it was a disease**

TT: =Yeah, because you've always so staunchly followed my orders. You practically got a clean record of it.

TG: **dirkke dont come over okay ill come back**

TG: **you dont have to hurt anyone okay**

TG: **im fine**

TG: **im safe**

TT: =That's what you said last time.

terminalTestified [TT] ceased trolling turntechGambler [TG]

TG: **fuck**

turntechGambler [TG] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TG: **yo**

TG: **signless**

TG: **are you still operating around hivesquare a7**

CG: YOU KNOW, MAYBE I WAS THINKING TONIGHT COULD JUST BE AN EXEMPLARY EFFORT OF "HEY, MAYBE I CAN FINALLY CHILL THE FUCK DOWN FOR ONCE."

CG: BUT FATE IS NEVER SO FORTUNATE AS TO STICK SOMETHING COLD AND HARD UP MY ASS.

CG: THE HELL DO YOU WANT.

TG: **my uh**

TG: **moirail might be doing some bird hunting if you get my meaning**

CG: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?

TG: **would you rather not know about it**

CG: HALF OF US ARE IN A GOGDAMN MEETING!

TG: **yeah i recommend you have like five fucking minutes before he decides to flashstep here**

TG: **you know hell call down the threshies on you faster than you can say, 'wow, i sure wish i listened to that asshole rustblood with nice shades'**

CG: FUCK. YOU.

TG: **think about it this way**

TG: **he catches me here so many times theres no way hed suspect any actual shit would happen since he keeps coming here**

CG: NO RATIONAL TROLL THINKS LIKE THAT.

TG: **when the fuck did i say hes rational**

turntechGambler [TG] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

CG: GOOD NEWS AND BAD NEWS, PSIIONIIC.

CG: WHO AM I KIDDING, IT'S ALL GONE DOWN THE FUCKING DRAIN.

CG: CROW'S ASSHOLE MOIRAIL IS ON HIS WAY TO PLAY 'FETCH PALE ASS' AGAIN.

TA: crow?

TA: don't you mean "clock2topper?"

CG: HE CHANGES HIS PSEUDONYM ALL THE FUCKING TIME, TAKE YOUR FUCKING PICK!

TA: 2iignle22 you have GOT TO BE KIIDDIING.

TA: thii2 ii2 the one tiime we actually have the 2afety and re2ource2 to meet, and now you're telliing me that guy'2 ruiined iit AGAIIN??!

CG: DON'T BLAME ME, DIPSHIT.

CG: AND HE'S A VALUABLE MEMBER.

TA: you don't need two defend your flu2hcru2h, jegu2.

TA: how much tiime do we have.

CG: SHUT UP.

CG: HE SAID AROUND FIVE MINUTES.

TA: fuuuuuuuuuuck.

TA: alriight, ii'll 2tart contactiing the other patrol2.

CG: GUESS IT GIVES ME A MEAGRE COMFORT KNOWING I CAN SEMI-RELY ON YOU.

CG: <3<

TA: <3

CG: UM.

TA: whoop2 <3<

TA: 2liip of a fiinger.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]

TA: 2pectre iit'2 viiolet alert code.

AA: these pseud0nyms are ridicul0us s0metimes

TA: iit'2 for 2ecuriity rea2on2 untiil ii can update the defen2e and/or iif 2omeone take2 out darkleer, dollmaker, and larcener all at once.

AA: theyre t00 p0werful

TA: exactly

TA: anyway2 iit'2 crow'2 palemate chargiing over agaiin

AA: y0u kn0w

AA: ive 0bserved the vi0letbl00d

AA: he m0ves awfully similar t0 d0llmaker

TA: we've already debunked thii2, unle22 he can 2omehow be iin 2everal place2 at once.

AA: 0h

AA: right

TA: anyway2 ju2t tell the other2.

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]

apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling adiosToreador [AT]

AA: summ0ner its c0de cr0w vi0let

AT: uM, AGAIN,

AT: i THOUGHT HE SAID LAST TIME WOULD, UH, BE THE,

AT: yOU KNOW,

AT: lAST,

AA: well kindly remind him 0f that later but thatll be signless's decisi0n

AT: oKAY,

apocalypseArisen [AA] ceased trolling adiosToreador [AT]

adiosToreador [AT] began trolling galaxGnostic [GG]

AT: uM, SCOPE,

AT: iT'S CROW'S PALEMATE AGAIN,

GG: ~oh my Gosh!!//

GG: ~this is the SECOND TIME this perigee//

GG: ~i swear im GoinG to have a firm talk with crow after all this//

GG: ~thank you for tellinG me// z:)

AT: yEAH,

AT: nO PROBLEM,

adiosToreador [AT] ceased trolling galaxGnostic [GG]

galaxGnostic [GG] began trolling arsenicCatnip [AC]

GG: ~huntress its code crow violet!!!//

AC: :33< oh no

galaxGnostic [GG] ceased trolling arsenicCatnip [AC]

arsenicCatnip [AC] began trolling golgothasTamer [GT]

AC: :33< its code crow violet

GT: ^Fuckkk;

arsenicCatnip [AC] ceased trolling golgothasTamer [GT]

golgothasTamer [GT] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

GT: ^Daywalkkker, it seems there is a

GA: Ive Heard

golgothasTamer [GT] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

GA: Everyone Has Been Evacuated Appropriately

CG: FUCKING GREAT.

GA: Uh Huh

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGambler [TG]

CG: ALL FOR YOUR SORRY ASS.

TG: **cool**

TG: **considering hes here**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. Welcome to the trollstuck AU. This is a new longfic I'm tentatively beginning, and I'm excited to see where it goes (no, I haven't given up or forgotten my other fics!)
> 
> Background: Dave and Dirk/Bro are moirails. However, Dirk is not exactly keeping it in quadrants (which is where the "stridercest" taboo comes from). Hemospectrum continues to exist very heavily. 
> 
> Expect tags to be added on as the story progresses! Any TW will be tagged on the beginning notes.


	2. Unite Synchronization (Prelude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up on **Semi-graphic depictions of violence, swearing.** There will always be swearing.
> 
> Beginning notes are for tag warnings. End notes are more of my own thoughts.

**THREE HOURS - C1, COMMONBLOOD DOWNTOWN**

You consider yourself a bona fide professional in this field of work, which involves flashstepping at the greenblood -- 

"What the _fuck_ \-- "

and then grabbing him by the back of the shirt, hoisting him up so violently you swear his spine almost snaps. He does get tossed almost ten fucking feet in the air, but you blame that on momentum: his face smashes into the low-lying ceiling and he crashes back down in a series of cusses and something _squishing._

"Crow," he wheezes out when you place a single boot on his chest.

"That's definitely my grub name. So where's the Magis?"

"What -- "

"Where the _fuck_ is she?!" You'd show a little more decorum, but there's a fucking clock ticking in the very back of your mind, acutely aware that you're counting down on minutes now. You bend down and haul the troll up face-to-face with you, his eyes going cross-eyed from the strength of your glamour. Glaucous blood trickles from his mouth and eye. "Answer _now,_ dipshit, or I'll fling you out the window."

"Okay, okay, shit!" He weakly scrabbles against your grip. "I - I - I don't really know -- " His eyes widen almost comedically when you begin dragging him towards the window. "Alright, _fuck,_ she's at A10! That's what she told us where she'd be at!"

"You sure? What if I get there and there isn't a single horn or claw of some asshole cobaltblood? Do I get to chop your fingers off?"

"I swear that's what she said!" The poor guy's voice is practically cracking now like he's swallowed too much dust. You think he's starting to cry. "Please -- I have a matesprit -- "

"Oh my fucking gog." You drop him unceremoniously, swiftly kicking him on the head before he tries to start crawling around again. "That shitty excuse literally milks my bulge dry whenever I hear that. You killed people, dipwad, you don't deserve to live."

He gurgles pathetically.

"Not my job though. Just sit nice and still for Spectre, capiche?" You sort-of-fondly pat him on the cheek, smearing his own blood across his jaw. You have to relish the moment where, if even possible, his eyes widen further. "I've got your boss to catch."

====

< _Would you have actually killed him? >_

"Nah," you mutter, trying not to break your stride as you zip down the avenues. Here, in this part of the city, the roads are mostly lumpy and crooked, the buildings dilapidated and slowly rotting, but you do your best not to sumble across any concrete cracks. "He survived my ceiling-o-rama, anyway, he'll live from what I gave him."

< _No, but you've never killed anyone. I've never seen you done it before! >_

"Newsflash, Scope," you snap, your hand already crawling up to the hilt of the katana strapped on your back, "maybe a lot more shit wouldn't be like that if your first proposal wasn't to shoot out their pan into shish-kabob. Ever heard of diplomacy?"

< _Oh, like good cop bad cop vibes? Take me now. >_

"Besides, Spectre'll just take care of 'em anyways." You shove past a few bystander ochrebloods, wishing you had just taken the rooftop route instead. Then again, there might be a higher chance someone you don't want as observer to catch you. "I know martial pacifism really isn't on the platter -- "

< _We've_ tried, _Crow. >_ The voice in your headpiece sighs, almost resignedly. < _We really do. But ever since Signless took over his leader, his first priority was to ensure no innocents were harmed. And if that meant taking the fuck out of murderers, then so be it. >_

"That...makes sense. I guess." You're close to the location; the pink and green moonlights waver above you, slanting over the street in a bizarre palette of colors. The night air whips cold and sharp against your face, and you're starting to feel the burn creeping up into your lungs. "Okay. Scope. It's really great talking with you -- "

< _You're high on the flattery spectrum today! Something finally good turn out for you? >_

You can't stop the smile that tugs on your mouth. "I've got A10 to tackle. Please tell me I get backup."

< _Daywalker should almost be there. >_

A10's a squat, stumpy warehouse-hive crossbreed that reminds you of the Beat's storage houses. It's all shuttered windows and dull paint, and if you were blind you'd think it's a totally mundane compound, nothing suspicious -- yeah, no. You're already flashstepping to the door, raising your leg to pummel it down -- 

"OW, FUCK!"

"The window would've worked better," Daywalker muses as she jogs up to view. You can't speak for her face, naturally, but she doesn't even seem out of breath. Her dress swirls around her slippers in a heavy swath of jade-ebony fabric. "It's solid stone, Crow, what did you expect?"

"Cheap plaster and wood, clearly."

"I'd say we have three minutes left to spare." Daywalker glances over at you; you grimace, reach out a hand, and you try to remember what Dirkke had taught you --

 _Let it flow through your veins, kiddo._ To say you sometimes despised his lessons would be the fucking biggest understatement of the sweep, but the first time he taught you your psychics wasn't all too bad. He had brought you out to an emptier part of the seaside, the current white-blue and froth as it pounded against the rocks, and instructed you to toss pebbles into the sea. _Feel every detail of the environment. Don't let it get up into your head._ A warmth begins to tingle at your fingertips, like you've lightly placed them against a heating stove, and then something _pulsates_ along the bones and sinews of your arm --

The door dislodges, just a little, and you bite back a swear from the low throb in your skull. It's enough: Daywalker slams her heel against the stone, and the door creaks open, scraping across the ground.

You don't hesitate.

**TWO HOURS - A10, BRONZEBLOOD SECTOR**

You lied -- the Magis wasn't cobalt, more of a azureblood as she frantically whirls around to face you. Already your sword's in your hand, the steel razor-sharp and just as deadly. You give it a perfunctory swish.

"Surrender, throw down your weapons, etc," you recite at her. "Hard way or easy way. Free way or highway -- I don't fucking know, take your pick."

"Nah."

"Spectre has to be super gogdamn busy today," you say as you slash at her, the kind of wrist-twirl Dirkke always warned you against but you never listened because it's _cool as fuck,_ okay, it makes the blade rotate and flash in this deadly arc that she barely avoids. You think some of her hair got snaggled on the flat.

"Surrender."

"Again, nah." The Magis has pulled out her own weapon: it's an enormous hammer, sort of similar to the one Johhyn likes to drag around like it's a sack of trash, and you briefly wonder if all bluebloods have some fixation on hammers. You've never really seen Equius with one, though, the few times Dirkke let you visit his hive -- ohh _shit_ maybe not the best time to reminiscence --

"Fuck!"

"You and your stupid, trashblood _vigilantes,_ " she hisses out, the hammer swinging an inch from your face, her teeth bared in a feral grin. She's way bigger than you too, you realize, her arms straining blue as she _slams_ the hammer head at the spot you were just standing at. "None of your _fucking business_ on what I do, so why don't you -- "

The wall actually _cracks_ when the hammer flies into it; your heart's pounding in your throat, your grip shaky on your blade. You have to take her out.

_Damn._

"Stay the _FUCK. OUT!_ " Her arm stretches outward as extra leverage on the swing, and you dive right into the opening, flashstepping like your life depended on it -- which it did --

_Upperstroke. They never expect it, kiddo. I never know why._

Your blade cuts up into her like she's paper.

The blow shakes through your arms, but you twist the blade upward, you keep twisting it, it's embedded so _deep_ into her pusher and you keep going until you're practically lifting her onto her toes -- rust sparks zap around your forearms, throbbing up to your neck, and cool, salty blood drenches all across your front. She's -- she's spasming. Something violent possesses her muscles, this half-choked sob tearing out of her throat, and her eyes find yours as hilt slams into chest --

_Bastard._

Then her weight crumples on you, hammer hitting the floor, and you get to experience what feels like a thousand tons crushing your body. You try not to breathe in the heavy, metallic odors of blood, but burns down your throat. Your headpiece has been knocked from your head, lying intact several feet away. 

"Yo, Daywalker," you call out. You hadn't even paid attention to her during your fight with the Magis. "Help out a poor dude here, will ya."

Someone hauls the corpse off of you. You'd think Daywalker took some kind of painting class, the way her dress was _absolutely drenched_ in different hues of blood. Her chainsaw revs and dies down almost in silence. You prop yourself on your elbows, surveying the damage.

 _Wow._ That's a lot of mooks lying about.

"I was going to assist you, but it looks like you had it under control." Daywalker prods the Magis' cadaver with her shoe. "And you took her out quickly enough. Apparently, she is able to mildly use chucklevoodos."

"She's not a purpleblood."

"That's why I said mildly." As best as you could from the awkward angle, you tug your katana out from her chest -- Daywalker winces at the spray of blood that jettisons across her skirt.

"Really, Crow?"

"M'bad." You wipe the blade on the Magis' robes. Something else Dirkke was always adamant about -- _don't leave any more blood than you've already got on your clothes --_ but you think reciting Dirkke's mantras at this moment might not be a swell idea. You and Daywalker sort of stand about awkwardly in the warehouse.

"I...should get my headpiece."

"I see."

You bend down and slip the earpiece over your ear to hear -- 

< \-- _and tell him I'm going to FUCKING KILL HIM if he doesn't respond RIGHT NOW, OKAY?! I swear to fucking GOG -- >_

_< \-- calm down, Signless, looks like you're about to burst a vein -- >_

_< \-- you fucking MAKE ME, PSII, I'M GOING TO RIP HIS THROAT OUT -- >_

You clear your mentioned throat. "Why the hell are there three people on my radio line? Where's Scope?"

< _I'm here, Crow. Signless just wanted to check on you, and Psiioniic kind of got roped in along... >_

_< Yeah, that was my life's fucking goal this evening when I rolled out of the 'coon. Thank you SO MUCH, Sign. Jegus.>_

"He could also just contact me?"

< _I told you, Sign! We didn't have to fight over one headpiece! >_

< _I get it, I get it, I'm the stupidest fuck to ever breathe on Alternia, now gimme the thing. >_ The change of voice is hard to discern in the crackle of static, but you'd recognize Signless' voice from anywhere. There's no one else that yells like he does.

< _You okay, Crow? >_

"Look." you squeeze at your eyes, and then remember your hand's sludged in blood, "I'm sorry for not _immediately responding_ to you, but also not really because I was in the middle of _fighting the Magis._ You know, tonight's target?"

< _Oh. Um. Sorry about that. >_

How could you stay pissed at that apology? "S'fine. What did you want to tell me?"

< _Glad...glad you're okay then. I was worried --_ > There's a scuffling sound, a yelp of pain, and then someone else's voice blares in your ears.

< _What he's trying to say, >_ Psiioniic's voice snaps at you, < \-- _is that we've got backrow attacks on B12. >_

"What."

< _And Spectre's out of fucking commission, so we need you and Daywalker to boost our melee trollpower. >_

"Couldn't you just psionic-fry the place, dude?"

< _Yeah, if I wanted to attract the attention of every highblood from a ten-mile radius. The place is_ RIGGED _with bombs, okay?! >_ The volume of the last syllable makes you flinch from the headpiece. < _I'm not going to let Signless charge alone into the attack. So far we're fending them off long-range -- we've got Jager here too -- "_

"Okay, right -- " _B Twelve,_ you mouth at Daywalker, who nods curtly. You can't flashstep there, but B12's not too far off from A10 -- you should still be able to make good time if you move right now. "What about the others? Where's Summoner and Huntress?"

< _Huntress is also heading over. Summoner's running sentinel, can't compromise him -- >_ There's more sounds of scuffling, someone faintly yelling "Hey!" and then a smacking sound, and it's Scope back on the radio. You sigh in relief.

"My favorite troll."

< _Undoubtedly. Signless says we should all be able to make a meeting afterwards if this goes well. >_

"How nice of him." You peek your head out of the door, cursorily glancing down the street both ways for any highblood police. Daywalker sidles up besides you, smooth as always. "I'll hold him to it."

====

**ONE HOUR - B12, BRONZEBLOOD OUTSKIRTS**

"If this _all goes well,_ " you mutter at Scope, who's busy firing away like a madtroll at the rest of the Magis' henchtrolls. You even do air quotes. "Scope, Jegus, what part of this connects in any way with what you just said -- "

"Less talking," she grits out, and you have to hide your grin. "Here -- okay, there's an opening, just at the right side -- "

"Sweet."

"Good luck," you hear her say, and you're _off._ You practically run along the walls for this -- you're unsheathing your sword, letting the blade spin in your hand even as you slash it downward, your shoes skidding on the concrete. 

_If you're going to use a sword, kid, you better use it to kill._

You clench your teeth at his words. One day -- but _not today_ \-- you'll...prove him wrong?

Throw it back in his face?

_Don't think of him right now, idiot!_

Instead you're _flying_ along the ground, letting your sword swing wild as you cut through their backup like paper -- blood splashes cool and warm along your body, never cold, never like Dirkke's, and you're _twisting_ it in ribs and stomachs and backs and what else you can reach. You distantly hear Huntress hiss as something slashes across her, but then she's leaping and snarling and her claws are smeared. Something flashes, but it's just Signless' sickles: he's jumped into the fray, his weapons already coated in blood. Bones _crunch_ and flesh rents and you're fighting back-to-back, and Scope and Jager's gunfire pick out the edges, drilling away --

"DAYWALKER!"

She lands heavily, the chainsaw already screeching into full fury, and then it's bodies being cut and used and torn apart like ragdolls -- and then half of the wall blows out in an earsplitting boom.. Huge chunks of concrete hurl toward you, and you're grabbing Signless by the arm, trying to yank him out of the way --

"Fuck," you hear someone snarl, and then an invisible force is plucking all of you up like a hand in the back of the shirt, and you see Psiioniic floating besides where Scope and Jager are crouching, yellow blood dripping down his neck. "Shit -- okay -- I don't think I can carry everyone without accidentally setting off one of the bombs, can you -- ?"

"Alright!" Scope's flicking something on her rifle, and you don't even have time to blink before Jager's grabbing onto her and she just _shot both of them_ out of the warehouse, what the fuck, this colossal beam _tearing_ through the air and cindering the stone to dust. Psiioniic winces from the volume of the gunshot. 

"Try not to scream," he warns you before --

 _flinging_ all of you out. 

And not with a second to spare, either -- you're hitting the hard concrete and B12's compound goes _up_ in flames, huge, roaring incendiaries that seem to jump twenty feet tall, even as Daywalker drags you and Signless away, and he's cussing furiously and there's bright red blood on his hands -- Psiioniic hurls out of the rubble, his whole face coated in blood, but he's somehow alive. His eyes spark furiously.

"Aw, geez," he mutters, before collapsing right onto the ground.

Huntress and Summoner limp out of the fray, the latter leaning on the former for support. Their uniforms are riddled with slash marks and tears. They stare at the pile of you wordlessly.

"We really need to get a healer," Signless mutters before passing out.

====

**THIRTY MINUTES - A7, COMMONBLOOD HUB**

"Look what I found!" Spectre beams as she floats inside the chamber, ignoring the walls' burn marks from where Psiioniic started spazzing too hard. Everyone else is lumped in the unhappiest formation around a cleaved round table. You wonder if it's a rustblood thing, or a psychic thing, but there's always this aura of _silver_ that pulses around her like trailing mist. Something shifts in the very depths of your mind, like eyes glittering up from the bottom of a chasm, and you realizee the spirits of the dead are following her.

 _Stridr,_ one of them whispers to you. It occurs to you that Spectre probably knows everyone's identities, considering there's more dead trolls per square foot than bacteria, but you'd never guess it from the way she floats happily instead. 

Spectre holds out a hand -- spheres of glistening silver swirl around her fingers, the spirits of the recently deceased writhing and contorting as they try to dissipate into air. She sweeps her gaze across all of you.

"Who's most injured here?"

"This douchebag." Signless jabs a finger toward his kismesis, who looks like he's about to puke up blood. WIthout hesitation Spectre lets one of her fingers uncurl, a wash of light coating the tips of her horns, and a silvery mass detaches from her hand. It glistens along Psiioniic's limbs, creeping up to his neck, and you watch him shudder violently before his boxy relaxes, the silver slowly absorbing into his skin.

"Great," he mutters. "Another voice."

"It'll peel off in a few hours." You'll never get over how fucking bizarre this is, Spectre healing you with _dead souls,_ but you're not about to complain. The spirit she sends you rustles up your clothes, and it feels like someone pressed a damp hand to your bare abdomen. You distantly hear the buzz of a voice --

_Magis, is that you?_

_Fuck. You._

before it retreats back into your mind. You _feel_ your wounds starting to close up, the ache in your bones fading into a soreness, the sharp prick of pain ceasing into something more tolerable. Your clothes are still soaked in blood. 

"You alright there, Crow?" It's Scope. Now that you're both not caught up in crossfire, you notice that her thick mane of hair is completely totaled by blood. You're not going to ask how she's about to wash it off.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself. You looked a bit spaced-out there."

"I think I'm sharing temporal residence with the Magis."

"Aw, geez." She pats at your arm sympathetically, and you try not to concentrate on the coolness of her hand through your clothes. "That's the one you lopped today, huh?"

"Kinda." You're not riding high on the guilt cloud here; you _know_ the Magis has slaughtered dozens of orangebloods, even shipped some of them off as slaves to the further-reach seadwellers. "It was a pretty nasty fight."

"I guess -- "

A pair of hands dope-slap you and Scope on the back of your heads. It's Signless, looking remarkably pissed for someone spirited-healed. "You two," he snaps, "shut up and pay attention. I'm trying to talk."

You're pretty sure Scope rolls her eyes.

Signless stalks back around to the head of the table -- if you can call it that around a semicircle -- and sits down heavily in his seat, Psiioniic and Daywalker flanking him with crossed arms. The chatter dies down.

"The Magis is dead," Signless begins, and it might've been graver if you didn't hack out a cough at the same time. You can _feel_ his glare even through the glamour before he continues:

"That's one crimelord down on the city," Signless says, his fingers trembling slightly as he steeples them together. "She and her organization are responsible for over two hundred innocents' deaths in Old Skaia. Whatever comes after this life, you'll bet she'll be judged fairly by Libra."

There's a moment of silence for everyone who actually believes in the Seer of Mind. You'd laugh again if you could -- if there's one principle of Dirkke's you agree with, it's that there's no such thing as fucking Gods -- but your brief run-in with a troupe of tryhard-subjuggulators ingrained in you the lesson of not pissing people on their religion. It's a "douche-move," as he dubs it. 

"Back to business then." Signless somehow yanks a map out of nowhere and spreads it on the table. "We've taken out pretty much all of Magis' syndicate, and whatever remains isn't enough of a force to regroup for several sweeps, really. It took her over a decade to amass that much force. I wouldn't say not to worry about her --" Signless' laugh is harsh and bitter. "Who am I kidding, don't. We could've saved more trolls. But -- " he sort of slumps, all at once, and it makes your heart twist a little. "I...we stopped her. We _stopped_ her."

**FIFTEEN MINUTES - A8, COMMONBLOOD HUB**

"I wished he'd just stop beating himself over it each time someone dies," Scope tells you as you pace up and down the streets. You don't know how long you've been out here; you're not expecting any attackers, really, but it's a safe precaution. "It's not good for his mental health."

"Maybe he should actually fill up his quadrants then."

"Crow, don't be like that." She lightly swats at your arm. "But -- um -- I'm glad we had a chance to clear our heads a little."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely." Somehow you can feel the force of her smile, and it makes you a little warm instead. "So..."

"So."

"How's it with you and your moirail?"

And just like that, any possible good mood drops. It's not Scope's fault -- it's _no one's_ fault except his -- but the thought of Dirkke waiting back for you in the hive, the way he's just going to recline against the futon and fold his arms and not say a word -- and you find yourself staring at your toes, unable to identify the rush of sharp, bitter emotions that swell in your chest. Scope's smile drops.

"Bad mood again?"

"Just...no mood at all, more like." Everyone's got someone to live with; you're ninety-nine percent sure Signless and Psiioniic bunk in the same hive, however rare that is for spademates, and Scope and Jager have their own hatchmate-vibe going along, and Spectre and Summoner are pretty cozy with each other, and Daywalker and Huntress live in close quarters -- and you're the odd one out here. It's not rare for highbloods to take a diamond along midbloods, or even high-lowbloods, but a seadweller and a _rustblood_ \--

"Hey, hey, it's fine." Scope pats at your shoulder, trying to soothe you. You realize glimmers of rust tendril are hissing from your fingertips. "You don't have to talk about him. I know it's complicated."

 _Understatement._ "Yeah," you say instead. You don't want to think about him here, not when the sky's lovely and clear for once and you don't have to take up on the sword again. A moment of serenity. "I mean," you began, and then you have to laugh a little, because this emotional-stress kind of shit is something you unload on your _moirail,_ not on a fellow partner, but the last person you could tell this to is -- guess it -- your fucking palemate.

"Do you want some time to yourself?" Scope finally breaks the silence.

"I..." You stare down the empty avenues. "Yeah. Sorry, Scope, about all thi -- "

"It's fine." She gives you one final pat before slinking away. You watch her retreat back into the alleyway shadows.

Maybe you _should_ take a walk. Clear your head a bit. Instead, you give one final glance up and down the street, and you

_run._

You run, and you know the velocity you're hurling toward is incredible, your feet barely grazing the ground, and the city blurs around you. The sun is about to rise, ths run of white-gold slicing across the buildings, and you

 _leap._ Your powers sizzle around you, crackling like a lattice of energy, and you're leaping up, _up,_ away from the scum of the city, away from the grit and dirt and blood that stain your hands, You _sail._ One day you'll be able to cultivate your powers enough to actually fly -- like Spectre -- and you _will._ You imagine yourself being buoyed by both moonlights and sunlight, the light carrying your feet to somewhere you can truly call home, the wind carrying you like you're a speck of dust. Like you're nothing.

You land lightly on the roofs, as soft and gentle as a feather. 

With slow, deliberate motions, you remove your glamour. Immediately your head freshens up, your vision sharpening and blurring and sharpening again, and you _feel_ your clothes blurring, melding, back into your usual garb, the blood magically wringed and vanished. There's your sign again, stamped across your chest, and near your shoulder is a single violet stitch that tells everyone who your palemate is.

Who you belong to.

You bite the inside of your mouth, trying to ignore the frustration knotting in your stomach. On a last thought, you pull out the aviators now in your pocket and slip them over your face. You can never neglect Johhyn's wiggling day present to you. That's pure blasphemy.

Maybe you'll even make it back hive before he returns from work. You'll just pretend to be all cozied up in your 'coon, and he's not going to fucking grill on you if he thinks you're full-out asleep. You make sure your katana's safe and snug and out of sight on its strap and something _dings_ on your palmhusk -- and your blood runs cold.

====

**FIVE MINUTES - A8, COMMONBLOOD HUB**

terminalTestified [TT] began trolling turntechGambler [TG]

TT: =Daevid.

Aw, _shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh...so I wished this chapter could've turned out better, since a) it's the first official one and b) I just...really don't like using the "heroes vs faceless mooks" syndrome? Then again, this is more of a snapshot of Daevid's vigilante work life and not an actual play-by-play, so I decided to use a more snappy, 'brisk' sort of style. Future chapters are definitely much more intensive.
> 
> Please leave a comment! This is unbeta'ed, so don't hesitate in pointing out any mistakes.
> 
> I'll probably repeat this again and again (not really. Maybe.): this story HEAVILY CENTERS ON DIRK/DAVE. There WILL be messed-up (yes, I am referring to sexual) stuff between them (see tag "Quadrant Confusion.") In this AU they are unrelated, but the taboo is still in place because of their status as moirails. If you're uncomfortable with seeing non-platonic interaction between a pair of canonically-deemed brothers, you've been warned. Like, twice by now.
> 
> Also: the trolls' powers. I can't give away much on that :/


	3. Whistling Jackhammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Swearing. ******
> 
> Sorry for the wait.

You don't see Dirkke so much of arriving at the Hub as _sense_ him -- there's this distinct sort of ripple that caresses the air, like someone floated in in a cloud of perfume, only it's not a scented showtroll and instead it ushers in a single silhouette walking down the street. He doesn't stroll down pompously, or try to conceal himself either -- he just. Walks. He's wearing his completely normal work clothes, from the grey-jacket-over-wifebeater to baggy slacks -- and as usual, the shades. At this angle of the light, his hair and sideburns does a decent job of covering up his earfins if you weren't looking so carefully.

If you were like anyone else, you might've just dismissed him as an exceptionally tall ochreblood.

But you're _you._ You pick up on the finer details -- his fingerless gloves, the steel lining rimming his boots -- faster than anyone possible. You'd think he was built with some scent detector judging by the way he suddenly glances up to the ledge you're squatting on, the still-weak sunlight slanting stripes across his face.

_Fuck._

You give a timid wave.

He doesn't crook a finger or shout. He stands there on the sidewalk, hands relaxed at his sides, and it's up to you to undergo the climb of shame as you slowly pick your way down the building sills. The last ten feet you buoy yourself down on a haze of psychics, trying not to wince when your heels slam hard onto the concrete.

"Hey," you say, and you hate how tremulous your voice is. All of your fast-talking confidence, your snappishness -- all gone when you're standing before him like this, literally drenched in his shadow. He's standing sort of stiffly, his mouth twisted to the side a little, and you realize that -- unlike you -- Dirkke really does not want to fucking talk. You still barrel ahead anyway, because him losing his shit in a place of commonbloods is like the Grade-A tier of disasters on the top of your head.

"I was just chilling with some friends," you plow through, trying not to notice how his fingers twitch a little.

He turns and walks away instead, and your face flushes in humiliation in how fast you stumble after him. "Like, you don't have to worry. That's all it was."

He doesn't respond.

"Dirkke," you began again, your voice dry. The sun's heat is growing stronger; in half an hour it'll be strong enough to burn your skin right off your bones. "C'mon, man, don't be mad. I like having a social life."

"I told you not to go there."

Ohh _shit,_ he's pissed. There's this cold, flat edge to his voice that makes every nerve in your body scream _ALERT,_ and it's times like these that you're aware of how thin of a shield moirallegiance offers you. There's nothing on the planet, you realize, that can stop him from snapping your horn right there and then or breaking your spine like a toy. You don't think he'll hit you right on the street either, but the number one rule you learned from him is that he's gogdamn _unpredictable._

"Why? Dirkke, I'm literally about to be an adult -- "

His fingers clamp down on your forearm. Bruising pressure squeezes down on your skin and you gasp more in surprise than in pain. For a terrifying moment you think he's about to fling you into a wall -- _stop, Daevid, he's your_ moirail, _he's just angry, he's not gonna hurt you_ \-- and then the world blurs around you into grey streaks of concrete as he flashsteps down the avenue. You're blinking furiously by the time the smoke of the city begins to clear, hissing a little each time the sun brushes your skin. The seaside is vacant, as always -- no landdweller's ever stupid enough to graze its shores and expect to survive for long -- and Dirkke's already making way for the salt cliffs.

"Dirkke?"

Again with the silence. He stops at a little shaded area under a cove and holds out a hand to you. You climb onto his back, wrapping your arms carefully around his neck, feeling ten times of awkward -- you'll never get used to being trollhandled like a grub no matter how many times you do this.

Without another word Dirkke dives into the sea. He's considerate enough not to immediately plunge to the depths -- even if you've practiced holding your breath up to a minute -- and instead bobs near the surface. Cold, choppy water instantly soaks your clothes, and you waft out a bit of psychic energy among the waves, trying to preserve some of your body heat. You know Dirkke's capable of flashstepping -- flash _swimming_? -- through water, but its velocity would probably instantly kill you. Instead you hold onto your ride, trying to ignore how fucking cold his skin is even with your psychics heating up within your flesh. Salt and brine manage to sting your eyes through your shades.

Home looms up like a tidal wave. It's situated low enough in the cliffs that seawater always laps into the bottommost level whenever the tide comes in, but you suspect Dirkke's one of the rare seadwellers that doesn't care too much for water. Even now he's swimming stiffly, nothing like the fluidness he moves on land, and each movement makes you jerk and shift on his back like a delivery of cargo. The sun is starting to sting. 

He hasn't said a word. You think about papping him here, let one hand run down his sharp cheekbones and sort of pat at his jaw, and you take that fantasy and shoot it behind the shed because he'll probably just drop you in the water if you try to pull that shit on him. Or worse, get even more pissed at you because he _can't_ do anything in retaliation, not when you're currently floating at a fucking hundred feet in depth. The water gets warmer as you near the hive.

You'll _never_ get over how fucking weird your hive looks; just this blocklike structure semi-jutting from the cliffs, short stone steps spiraling up to the land entrance.

"Get in there." Dirkke reaches up and half-places, half-tosses you onto the stone landing/porch. Thank gog for waterproof clothes; it prevents the worst of the chill. You frown at him.

"Dirkke, c'mon -- "

He disappears under the waves without another word.

You swallow nervously and head for the hive entrance. It's small, barely discernable for anyone that's not familiar with the place, and you unlock the door with shaking hands, feeling the eyes of a thousand cameras situated on you. The sun's already warming painfully on your back.

The hive is spacious. You're no stranger to Rohzse's or Johhyn's, but one thing that leaps out to you on their respective abodes is their own brand of preference. You can't walk too much around Rohzse without bumping into a wizard statue, or Johhyn's without tripping over some half-assed pile of movie cases he probably whipped up in half a minute, but here in Dirkke's hive there's nothing that indicates what your moirail likes. You know his own respiteblock has some of his own touch -- some really fuckin' weird puppets and what looks like horses -- but the living room is as bare as a monk's cell. 

There's an enormous pool in the centre of the room. The waters ripple a little, an unseen disturbance lurking metres below, and then Dirkke emerges from the surface. You'll never ask how he keeps his shades on while swimming. He bobs to the edge of the pool, propping his arms on the surface, and waits for you to speak. Somehow he vibes _intimidating_ even when you're standing at a higher eye-level than him.

You cough a little as if you're testing the quality of the air. "So. Um. I think I told you all the why's of tonight." You already feel stupid the moment those words leave your mouth, but to glance away from his shaded gaze would be to brand you as wussy for possibly the rest of your life. You try to keep your stare on his through both of your shades.

Silence.

Dirkke's almost nonchalant in mannerisms; he's simply peering at you, one finger tapping on the other hand's knuckles arrhythmically. You wonder if you should crouch down or continue standing. Neither position gives you any semblance of comfort or even control, not with the way Dirkke's mouth impercetibly flattens when you don't speak any further.

"I..." your voice cracks embarrassingly when you finally hack out a sound. "I mean...I don't see why it's a big deal. A lot of trolls -- " _Like me_ , your inner thoughts whisper, " -- chill around down there. It's just some freelance work, man."

Tap. Tap. _tap._

"Okay, clearly not freelance." You shuffle your feet around as awkwardly as possible. "It's just some midblood thugs. They don't recognize us or anything."

Dirkke's hair glistens when the sun filters through the windows. You remember a few sweeps ago when he tried to do the "hair-dye" thing, doing the impossible of actually changing hair color, and how Rohxye had laughed like a banshee when she saw the piss-poor bleachjob done on his hair. You had to spend a few hours rinsing it out from him, ploughing your hands through his hair and letting suds and water bathe each lock. It was one of the few days neither of you had spoke, and yet you had never floated in a haze of euphoria so intense.

Golden memories aside, they're not holding up to how Dirkke's looking at you now, as if silently commanding yourself to vomit out each word until he's satisfied. The equivalent of verbal edging, you suppose.

"Okay." Should you look at him? You didn't want to see his disappointment. "M-m-maybe there was a ceruleanblood involved today. Not Mindfang," you quickly correct when you see Dirkke's ears stiffen, "like -- just some randomo blueblood. Mill-of-the-street, y'know. Happens all the time."

"A ceruleanblood," he finally says, his voice carefully toneless.

"I took her down easy enough." You don't like going into your exploits too often; Dirkke's too fucking smart for his own good, and any minor details on your fellow allies might land them in boiling water. Maybe even literally. "It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Yeah." Dirkke reaches up one hand and slips off his shades. The gaze he levels at you makes your legs instinctively tremble, but you swallow hard and try not to show it. "Nothing for _me,_ huh."

He gets out of the pool slowly. He doesn't -- really do anything intimidating, just flicks off some droplets onto the ground and carefully seat himself on the futon. It's an implicit way of rejecting he wants any fucking piles with you. He doesn't try to loom over you or menacingly palm at his katana -- which he set on the mattress instead -- like some of the paleporn you've caught on the web, but the way he positions himself, arms loose at his sides, makes you aware of every inch of your exposed skin.

"So when I woke up tonight," he goes on, cleaning his shades with the hem of his shirt, "and found that you were gone from your 'coon -- it didn't make fuckin' nervous or freaked out or anything. Didn't seem to me like you could end up on the newsroll as a dead body, getting stabbed out by some lowlife thieves. Get yourself bisected by some clownjug."

"That's not any different from my bar job," you snap out.

"Yeah, except one a' them doesn't have _this._ " He taps at his upper chest, where his symbol lies on your shirt. You flush angrily. "Down there, Daevid, that's probably the only fucking thing that keeps you alive."

"I can protect myself."

"Clearly, yeah." His snort as a dismissal is what crawls under your skin -- you _know_ you're a capable fighter, judging by the fact that you're standing and a ceruleanblood is not -- but to say that is like throwing a rubber ball off of a brick wall. Dirkke wouldn't give a fuck if you killed a brownblood or blueblood, not when he's probably killed both as easy as breathing in the past. No matter how good you are with your sword, you think bitterly, any misstep and Dirkke would remain as a living, breathing reminder that you're making a mess of yourself handling things you shouldn't. Even though he was the one that _taught_ you how to fucking fight.

Still, you can't exactly yell back at him -- it'd only deepen his disdain for you, make him raise a single brow and exhaust yourself into a puddle of embarrassment. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself. "Okay, since you think so fuckin' different -- what's the point of this conversation?"

Dirkke stands up from the futon. Reflexively you edge back a few steps, swallowing the spike of nervousness that thrums in your chest, but all he does is hold out a hand to you. You stare at his fingers in surprise. They twitch as if in impatience, and then Dirkke's _grabbing_ you, tugging you after him. You try to yank your hand out of his, but it's completely futile -- he's at least ten times stronger than you, and his grip clamps down like steel on your own fingers.

"Yo, Dirkke, what the hell are you doing -- "

"Shutting you up in your room."

You _feel_ your eyes widen behind your shades. "No, _WAIT,_ what?! You can't do that, you can't -- "

"I can do whatever _the fuck I want_ , Daevid." You start struggling -- _hard_ \-- and for a moment you think he's going to slap you, but he just wheels on you with a fury that makes you shrivel inside. His voice trembles with barely-restrained anger. "You still don't _fucking get it_ , do you? You could have _died._ "

"I'm not dead!"

"And how would I _KNOW THAT?!"_ The last words are thrown at you like knives. "What, you want me to stay back at hive and _wait_ for you to come back? What if I sat there for hours, and hours, and hours, and then Rohxye tells me that damn, sorry Dirkke, but your fuckin' palemate just got his head cleaved in half and you wasted an _entire day_ hangin' onto the hope he'd be alive? Are you fucking kidding me on this?"

Anger rises in you irrationally. "I'm not a _damn wiggler!_ You're not my lusus, you're my _moirail_ \-- you don't have a fuckin' leash on me at all times!"

"Oh, so not even a simple _note_ would suffice?"

"Maybe I wanted to do my own business -- "

"Which is something so meaningless that you're risking your life on -- "

And there's the root of the issue. "It's not _meaningless,_ " you snarl up at Dirkke. "I'm _helping_ trolls. I'm helping them because unlike you, I'm not a fucking psychopath and maybe I can actually _empathize_ with people being beat to an inch of their _lives!_ "

For several awful seconds both of you stand there, you trying to collect your breath, and even without his shades Dirkke's face is inscrutable. Judging by the way his lips press together even tighter, you realize you've fucked up. It's punctuated by a shove -- you think he's going to slam you into a wall, but he's pushing you hard into your respiteblock. You stagger and stumble onto the ground, the impact knocking the breath out of your lungs. You don't even need to ask how angry he is; it's accented by how hard he slams the door shut, and you're surprised he didn't just twist it right off its hinges.

You're left alone in your room, a red mist of anger and pain still clouding your vision, and it takes you a moment to realize sparks are fizzing up and down your arms.

.

.

.

You're shithive _bored._ The first few hours of solitude aren't bad -- you quickly sink into your recuperacoon, the night's exhaustion finally catching up to you -- and then you spent the next hour trolling Johhyn or Rohzse. You don't dare make contact with your other companions, not while Dirkke might be monitoring your contacts.

turntechGambler [TG] began trolling ghostyTrapper [GT]

TG: **yo egbrre would you like to donate a few minutes of your time**

TG: **and entertain a poor troll cooped up in his coon like hes about to get stomach ulcers**

GT: you have stomach ulcers?

GT: aw geez, what did you even get into yesterday?

TG: **nothin**

TG: **absolutely nothing**

TG: **but dirkkes got me locked up in my room and i cant like smash through the window**

TG: **unless i want to experience the miracles of sinking like a lump of lard right into the ocean**

TG: **which reminds me**

GT: oh gog, no, i DON'T want to hear your raps!

TG: **lies and slander**

GT: hehehe.

GT: But for real, though, why did dirkke lock you up?

GT: did you guys have a fight again or something?

TG: ***

TG: **maybe**

GT: oh no. ⍧:(

GT: what happened this time?

TG: **um**

TG: **bro**

TG: **dude**

TG: **you cant just ask a guy to unload his darkest deepest secrets at the flick of a hat yknow**

GT: wait, it's fine daevid! it's cool if you don't want to tell me.

GT: i don't know, i always found it weird that you don't talk on your issues with your...

GT: uh.

GT: with the person you're supposed to Be talking with?

TG: **dude**

TG: **do you think im palehitting on you or something lmao**

GT: huh?

GT: what?! no! ⍧:O

GT: i'm always willing to keep an ear open for my Best Buddy! there's nothing anyone can do aBout that.

GT: er, maybe...

GT: just a suggestion!

GT: have you think of getting an auspistice?

TG: **egbrre are you {{BLIND}}**

TG: **were not anywhere near spademates man**

GT: i don't know! it was just a suggestion.

GT: mayBe if you tell me a Bit more then i can help you Better!

TG: **ugh**

TG: **fine**

TG: **i guess the gist of it is that i went somewhere that he really didnt want me to**

TG: **and then he pulls out some bs spiel about all for my own safety or something**

TG: **even though im completely capable of defending myself because maybe thats what hes been drilling in me for my {{ENTIRE}} {{LIFE}}**

GT: oh, jeez.

GT: i mean, it does look like he's got your Best interests at heart?

GT: mayBe when this all Blows over you and him can talk about it?

TG: **oh yeah**

TG: **because me trying to drag his ass in a pile to *talk about it* is unwholly unprecedented and never ever tried before in our hive**

GT: ugh, too much information! you don't have to share me your pale stuff!

GT: i really don't know, daevid.

GT: i don't know anyone else that's paleBonded with someone so...

TG: **douche?**

GT: haha, proBaBly.

GT: But i really don't know anyone that's quadranted in...

GT: uh...

GT: such a wide disparity, i guess? i'm not sure on the word for it.

GT: ...

GT: wait, i really meant that in a non-offensive w#y! i d#dn't me#n to ups#t you!

GT: g#sh, ev#n i'm g#tting k#nd #f n#rv#us n#w!

GT: daev#d?!

TG: **yo hey**

TG: **hold up a second im tryna switch lanes back and forth between you and lalond**

turntechGambler [TG] began trolling tentacleTheorist [TT]

TG: **you know whats kind of ironically funny**

TG: **its that youre the highest blood i know that im comfortably speaking to besides johhyn and yet i feel like i can always dump all sorts of hemocaste woes bs on you**

TT: ∞That's entirely at your discretion, Daevid.∞

TT: ∞But I aSSume you must have some terrible, personal burden to unload on me at this rather inopportune time of the day.∞

TG: **shut it lalond your trollhandles been active the moment i logged on**

TT: ∞You've caught me.∞

TT: ∞Is it your moirail again?∞

TG: **no**

TG: **well**

TG: ** i mean ill just cut to the thick of it**

TG: **pretty much i sneaked outta the hive when he didnt want me to and he got pissed because i**

TG: **went to a place he kinda forbid me to**

TG: **some longwinded crap about me all getting in danger and shit**

TT: ∞It simply sounds like he's looking out for you.∞

TG: **no thats not the fuckin point**

TG: **its**

Your fingers falter at your palmhusk. Every part of you _itches_ to tell Johhyn and Rohzse your secret, to reveal what you're up to half of these nights, but the fact that they're tied down with Jayhne and Rohxye makes you hesitate. Both of the older blueblood and pinkblood are kind enough to you -- not the faux kind that's granted to you due to your status as Dirkke's moirail -- but you highly doubt either of them will take kindly to whatever "lowblood sedition" Dirkke probably thinks you're ass-deep in. 

You can't exactly share that with Rohzse either, though.

TG: **never mind hes probably got a good point**

TG: **im just acting like a pissy brat over it**

TT: ∞NonetheleSS, completely sealing you up in your room seems a tad bit exceSSive to me.∞

TT: ∞Although I have my doubts that your imposed-exile will last past today, given the circumstances.∞

TG: **what dyou mean**

TT: ∞I'm sure you'll receive the news soon enough from your dear moirail.∞

TG: **yeah in a {{FEW}} {{HOURS}}**

TT: S:)

TG: **gogdamn it rohzse**

A quick flurry of message notifications inform you that Johhyn still exists. 

GT: okay, i know if i say this i'm sounding super passive-aggressive or something, But i really didn't mean to Bring up Blood type!

GT: it was just that i really didn't have a frame of reference.

GT: daevid?

GT: daevid, are you still there?

GT: aw geez, i'm really sorry to say that!

GT: i #SWEAR on my smallest pinky that i didn't mean to offend you.

GT: ...

GT: anyone there?

TG: **jegus i bet if i scroll up farther ill be swamped by an assflow of apologies that doesnt even remotely apply to this sitch**

TG: **chillax man i know youre not going to go apeshit on me for calling you a dweeb**

TG: **dweeb**

GT: daevid!

TG: **ohhhhh shit did i cross the line**

GT: #rolls eyes.

GT: you realize that most coldBloods don't actually lose their shit at a drop of a hat, right?

TG: **yeah they just do it for fun**

GT: uh.

TG: **um**

TG: **fuck okay now im the douchewipe here**

TG: **i didnt mean it like that**

GT: it's fine, it's understandaBle.

GT: so is dirkke actually going to lock you in your room the entire day?

TG: **id think so yeah**

TG: **but rohzse said he might not**

TG: **so i dont know**

GT: huh.

GT: well, i don't really have anything to do right now, so i guess we can just keep chatting! ⍧:D

Even Johhyn's initial enthusiasm dies out, however, after an hour of rapid shitposting across Trollian. You bid him (and quickly Rohzse) a goodbye and let yourself relax into the slime, wondering what your other companions are up to. Out of the workspace Scope is probably the only troll you're willing to initiate conversation with, and Spectre's affable enough, and as for Signless...

He's an okay guy, you guess, when he isn't completely losing his shit. You glance outside; there's still plenty of hours of daylight left. They're probably all fast asleep. 

Hour after hour crawls by slowly. Whatever Dirkke's job is -- something involved with porn or puppets or whatever -- he tends to stay at hive for it, cramped up in his respiteblock, hunched over his computers. There was a time when you had waited for him in the living room and immediately calmed him down with your hands whenever he took a step out for a break; nowadays those moments are few and rare in between. You try to sleep, at least, but your mind fills with the images of blood splattering across your body and the warehouse going up into flames. It shouldn't disturb you. It _shouldn't._

You grit your teeth and wrest yourself out of sleep. You can't deal with a daymare _right now,_ not when Dirkke's so pissed at you. Instead you opt to fall in a light doze, barely teetering on the threshold of consciousness, aware of the sun's muted glow through the window. If you let your mind relax enough you could immerse yourself into the sound of waves lapping against stone. 

_Tick._

_Tick._

_TIck._

Sometimes, you think, you wish you could just rip the sign off of your shirt. Tear it out and crumple it up and smash it into a boulder.

Repeatedly.

You sigh, and adjust your shades on your face, letting yourself sink lower into the slime. You don't know that many trolls that can live with affordable slime and roomy hive and ultimate protection from other trolls. _You should be grateful,_ some voice hisses inside of your skull, and you try to muster up the right amount of indignation. You fall short.

_Tick._

Maybe you could repair your outfit; it's been through one too many times in a flame or crossfire. Your fingers itch to wrest your glamour out of thin air, and then you wonder if Dirkke has cameras in your room.

 _He wouldn't...would he_?

Hopefully not. You imagine your moirail peering at you through a camera lens while you sleep, while you jerk off, and some weird, twisting of emotions rises in your gut. Jegus, that's _wrong._

No outfit, then.

_Tick._

By sundown you're still unable to sleep. There's a sharp knock at the door, three raps one after another, and then the door unclicks. You try not to stiffen up as Dirkke lingers at the doorway.

He doesn't say a word. You slowly crawl out of the 'coon, trying not to wince at the trail of slime you leave behind, and tug a katana from the wall. He watches you dispassionately as you slide it into your sylladex. Is he going to take you up to the roof again? Leave you stranded in the pool until he comes back? You can't tell; worry gnaws in your gut.

Instead, all he says is "We're going to the Beat Mesa."

You stare at him. You can't tell if he's carting around his equipment or not, but there's a sizable pair of headphones slung around his neck. You follow him down the hallway, out onto the porch, and the sun's low enough that it only mildly tingles on your skin. Dirkke lowers himself into the water first -- his headphones somehow miraculously staying on his neck -- and beckons you over with a jerk of his chin. Once again you wrap your arms around his shoulder, pressing yourself to his back, and wish for the hundredth fucking time you could master your psychics better. 

It's when land looms near that you dare ask a question, curiosity overpowering your common sense. At least, you can probably make it to shore if he decides to drop you. "What happened"

"What."

"I mean, why are we..." your throat chokes up a little. "Why are we going to the Mesa?"

Dirkke makes you crawl onto land, and then hauls himself up after. The sun burns low on the horizon, the waves shimmering with streaks of crimson and auric.

"Celebratin' Rohxye again," he says, holding out a hand to you. The whiplash of the gesture -- coupled with the memory of him shoving you using that same hand -- makes bile churn in your gut, but you lace your fingers with his anyway, pulling yoursef up. The fact that he doesn't let go makes you feel almost giddy. "She just killed another Heiress."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. More Dirk/Dave 'goodness.' Look at those scare quotes.
> 
> Next scene: at the Beat Mesa (fyi, it's a club).


	4. Discontinued

I've decided to discontinue the work, short-lived as it was.

First of all, I looked through my drafts and realized I was way over my head in this. This was an idea I semi-made up on the spot, and then as I wrote further chapters several issues popped up:

One: due to the current situations, a lot of things are changing at where I live, and I've already got a lot on my plate trying to balance school and part-time work.

two: I'm not equipped to write Dirk/Dave. I'm not slandering the ship; there are very good fics that contain this ship (and its variants), treat the taboo with seriousness and sensitivity, and in general explore the characters very well. I'm not one of those writers. 

three: I have a lot of other works still ongoing. Because I have invested a considerable amount of time and effort into my main longfic, it is my main priority to finish it -- but once it's completed I'll probably leave ao3 for good. It was fun while it lasted.

This is definitely unfair to the amount of you that followed this particular work, and I'm sorry for being unable/unwilling to complete it. ~~However, I am essentially "auctioning" off the drafts -- if you're ever looking for something to write for fun, or wanting to see how this story would've played out, then look no further. I'd also like to warn that the drafts are pretty much incomprehensible.~~ Nope. Sorry.

I hope you and your close ones are safe. Thanks for reading.


End file.
